Another Road, Another Journey
by DaBananaLord
Summary: He thought he was finished, his journey complete. He thought there were no more roads he had left to travel. He was wrong. Suddenly, he was thrown into a new world, one brimming with life. Here, another journey begins. Here, another road lies open for The Courier to follow.
1. Utopia

Chapter 1 - Utopia

**This is the first fan fiction I've ever written, so I hope you'll be gentle.**

**The characters and the setting used in this story belong to their rightful owners. I do not claim ownership, for this is a fiction based on a fiction written for entertainment purposes without profit.**

**Thoughts will be in **_italics._

**Rated M for violence, language, and possibly adult themes later on.**

**Another Road, Another Journey**

He awoke with a gasp.

A lone man, features hidden beneath an articulate mass of leather and armor, jolted upright in the middle of a clearing. He took a moment to analyze his surroundings.

_What the hell? Trees? Grass?_

The last he knew, he was in the basement of the Lucky 38, fiddling with a device Mr. House had stowed away. A light had blinded him before he found himself in the clearing.

_The land's flat, so I'm not near Jacobstown. No mantises or Bighorners around, either._

The man activated a screen attached to his wrist, the words "Pip-Boy Model 3000" clear among the dials and buttons around it. Upon the screen, an arrow surrounded by darkness was displayed.

The man felt a hint of despair as his assumption was confirmed. He had never been here before.

He swore under his breath, this being the forth time he was stranded in a foreign land without any knowledge on how to get back to the Mojave.

_First the Sierra Madre, then Zion, and then Big Mountain. At least the Divide was kind enough to give me an exit._

Frustrated, he pulled himself to his feet and took inventory. He wore a chest plate, painted green, under a pair of bandoliers that held various bullets and pouches. Around his waist were a few belts, one of which held a canteen with the number "11" printed clearly on the front. Tan cargo pants covered his legs; his feet bore plated combat boots. Green plates protected his knees. On top of it all was a duster coat, laden with a pair of pouches on the arms, bracers on the forearms, pauldrons on the shoulders, and leather gloves on the hands. A combat helmet covered his head; an ominous gas mask covered his face. The number "100" was printed on the collar protecting his neck.

_Armor, check. Beats wandering around naked._

The man looked to his side to find a familiar knapsack and a large footlocker. His curiosity took precedence over his inhibitions, and he began searching through them.

_So my pack made it here, too. That's good, I think._

He paused upon opening the footlocker, revealing an impressive collection of unique weapons and apparel.

Weapons and apparel the man had seen before.

_How in the hell did my personal footlocker end up... wherever the hell I am?_

The man pondered his situation while he scanned the surrounding environment for any threats he had missed previously.

_This isn't like the last time I was kidnapped. Whoever did this had access to the presidential suite._

A foul taste entered the man's mouth as he considered being betrayed.

_No. Never. We've been through too much together. None of them would stoop that low._

He shook his head, resolving to wait until more answers were present before he began making more assumptions. His eyes settled on a beaten dirt path among the trees. The man sighed.

_No matter how many roads I travel, there's always one more in the distance._

He opened the footlocker and pulled out a pump-action hunting shotgun, characterized by synthetic camouflage painted on its pump and stock. He then picked up the footlocker by the handle on its side, barely struggling with its considerable weight. The man, The Courier, prepared himself for the long haul ahead.

**Oh dear, I hope that wasn't too terrible. Please give advice in the reviews. Oh, and please review.**

**In case you couldn't tell from the description, The Courier is wearing the Elite Riot Gear and Elite Riot Helmet from Lonesome Road, and the shotgun he pulls out in the end is the Dinner Bell from the main game.**

**Oh, and if you want information on this Courier, (you know, like his name) it will be given over time. As for pairings, I don't have any planned... yet.**


	2. The Forest

Chapter 2 - The Forest

**I still don't own the rights to Fallout or League of Legends, and I am still not writing for the purpose of profit. I simply want to entertain others.**

**Well, second chapter is a go. I would like to thank those that have reviewed the first chapter, and would appreciate further input. Thank you!**

**Yes, chapters will be longer from here on out. The first was just a short little introduction, so expect there to be more meat on my chapters now.**

**Thoughts are still in **_italics_**.**

The Courier was experiencing something new on his journey to nowhere.

He was bored.

In the Mojave Wasteland, travelers were always targeted by raiders, wildlife, mutants, and even (to certain people of interest) well-armed groups of Legion or NCR assassins. Even walled settlements offered little safety, thugs threatening to strong-arm settlers within and gangs like the Fiends threatening to blast the walls from without. Traveling from one place to another required being well armed and constantly alert. Here, in this forest, The Courier hadn't been attacked in at least six hours. It was unheard of.

_Not even a bloatfly. For once, I miss mortal peril._

The forest, if anything, was quiet. Not the quiet that The Courier knew, one filled with tension and the threat of chaos breaking out at any moment, but a serene quiet. One that allows for deep thought or peace of mind to troubled souls. The trees only rustled slightly in the gentle wind, flinging a few leaves onto the dirt path. Bushes and flowers covered the grass on either side of the path. They were pleasing to the eye, bursting with a brilliant mixture of color.

_No man-eaters. If I wasn't convinced I was going to hell, I'd say I'm in paradise._

The few animals he saw were all docile and ran away at the slightest sound. Not only that, but they resembled the Pre-War creatures he often read about in the few books he came across in the Mojave.

He paused and placed his free hand on the ornate handle of the Ranger Sequoia at his hip as a branch snapped nearby, only to relax upon seeing a furball with legs bound across the path.

_What were those called? Rabbits?_

The Courier's boredom also did nothing to relieve his confusion, for the lack of danger gave him time to think about his curious surroundings.

_Am I even on Earth anymore? This place clearly isn't a wasteland, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of another man for miles. All the animals I've seen are clearly Pre-War, which means that there was no radioactivity anywhere near here. If Arcade and the records I've seen are correct, no country saved itself from the missiles. So where could I possibly be?_

The Courier suddenly realized that the sun was nearly touching the horizon.

_Maybe if I sleep on it, something will come to me._

The Courier decided to set up a camp in a clearing by the road, where the land was flat enough to sleep on and nothing too large and dangerous could jump him from some bush. He then headed into the forest to collect firewood.

It wasn't long until he found a rabbit hanging by its neck from a sapling. Curious, The Courier kneeled down to take a closer look.

_Poor fella looks like he was hung by his neck. But who set up the trap?_

Traps required intelligence. Intelligence meant a sentient species.

_Maybe there's civilization around here after all._

Before the Courier could think further, his stomach growled. He suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten all day. His gaze focused on the rabbit before him.

_Well, it's not like anyone's around to catch-_

The bush nearby rustled slightly and two men walked into The Courier's sight.

They froze upon seeing him.

On one side, The Courier stood with his Ranger Sequoia already out, duster coat waving behind him and a menacing glow coming from the eyes of his mask. On the other, two hunters stood, bows in hand and both anger and confusion etched into their faces.

_Bows and fur coats. They look human, but their equipment's ancient. Hell, no one uses bows anymore. What kind of place is this?_

"HEY! That's our kill!" one of the men said. He was tall and fair-skinned, clearly the younger of the two.

"Quiet, boy. I don't like the looks of this... stranger," the other man muttered. This man was older and wrinkled; grey hair poked out from under his fur hat.

The Courier shifted slightly, catching the attention of the two.

"I'm afraid you've got me misunderstood. I don't mean you gentlemen any harm. I was just looking for some firewood, and stumbled on your trap here. Nothing has to happen here. I can just walk away and leave you two be."

The young man relaxed slightly upon hearing The Courier's words, but he stiffened again when the old man began to speak.

"We can't let him go, boy. We don't have a right to hunt here, remember? No one can know we were-"

That was all of the warning The Courier needed.

BANG.

The old man was interrupted as his bow split in half, wood splintering and sprinkling the snow below as a 45-70 Gov't round impaled a tree, leaving the bewildered pair of hunters staring at the pile of wood and string that was once a weapon. The old man looked up, shocked, to see The Courier pointing his revolver at him, wisps of smoke spilling from the end of the barrel.

"Now, I see you're beginning to understand your position in this little parley. If you two plan on keeping your heads free of holes, I recommend that you get out of my sight."

Acknowledging this sound plan, the two scurried back into the forest.

The Courier holstered his revolver and sighed.

_The first two humans I meet in this place, and I nearly end up killing both of them._

His moment of melancholy passed when he turned back to the snared rabbit. He cut it from the trap, placed it into his pack, and continued looking for firewood.

_I wonder if it tastes like gecko steak._

Smoke trailed into the sky as The Courier cleaned up after his meal and prepared for his rest under the stars.

_Beats a nap in any inn with a view like this. Good to see that the stars are the same here. _

However, something was... different. The Courier frowned from behind his mask as he stared at the night sky.

_Was the moon always so... bright?_

It shined like a great comet among the stars, bathing the space around it with a bright pale light. As opposed to the moon of Earth, this moon shamed the stars by glamorously outshining them in the vast sky. It was like a symbol, an iconic sphere that radiated light… light and power.

_More questions without answers for the pile, I guess._

The Courier simply watched the sky, admiring the constellations as he nodded off into a deep slumber.

Akali frowned from behind her mask. She wasn't sure what to make of the man sleeping in the clearing.

_He is clearly no ordinary traveler, considering his strange weapons and armor. He is also not violating the balance, but that doesn't mean he is not dangerous._

She was originally hunting down the poachers that were illegally hunting in the forest, but the timely intervention of the traveler prevented her from killing them. This left her with a puzzle.

The followings of the Kinkou warranted swift death to violators of balance, but this was the only teaching that permitted violence in dealing with a problem. The two men were still alive, but the fact that they had been disarmed and sent running back to the nearest town meant that they were no longer a disruption to the balance. Therefore, their lives were no longer forfeit.

That left the strange traveler.

He was clearly not some vagrant seeking destruction, for he had chosen not to kill the two poachers even though it was easily within his ability. He was also not a native Ionian, since Ionians did not use guns (especially of the kind the man possessed) and the man's accent contained a foreign gruffness to it.

That meant that Akali's only remaining option was to report back at the Kinkou fortress. Acknowledging this, she leaped off of one branch to the next, delving further into the forest.

**And that's the second chapter. Let me know in the reviews if it's still a little too short.**


	3. The Forest Part 2

Chapter 3 - The Forest Part 2

**I am writing for fun, and I don't own these characters.**

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><p>Deep in the Ionian forest, a green-clad ninja neared a palace that towered above the trees surrounding it. The building was of traditional Ionian architecture, with a curved tile roof and walls constructed entirely out of wooden planks. As the ninja neared the palace, shouts penetrated the silence while various ninjas-in-training sparred and performed various exercises.<p>

As the green kunoichi landed and walked towards the entrance into the palace, the trainees stopped and bowed to her respectfully, muttering "Fist of Shadow" as she passed. She nodded to them in response before she entered the palace.

She was greeted by a man who was draped in dark blue cloth that was typical of a Kinkou warrior. A pair of eerie glowing yellow eyes turned to bore into Akali's dark brown ones.

"Shen." she said, using his first name after insuring that they were alone.

"Akali" he responded, both ninjas bowing in respect to each other.

"You've arrived earlier than expected," Shen began in his monotonous voice, "do you have something to report?"

"Yes. During my patrol, I encountered two poachers who were illegally placing traps in the forest."

"Did you remove them?"

"I was going to, but before I could, a stranger with strange weapons and armor found them first."

This prompted only the slightest signs of surprise from the other ninja.

"The two confronted him and were about to kill him, but he used a gun of some kind to destroy one of their weapons."

Shen raised an eyebrow behind his mask.

"Did he kill them?"

"No. He allowed them to escape with their lives."

Akali shifted slightly, and began speaking with a softer tone of voice

"Shen... whoever this man is, he seems to be very dangerous. I... I'm not sure what to do."

Shen blinked. It was rare for the Fist of Shadow to show any vulnerability to anyone, even her closest allies.

"Perhaps we should have this... stranger followed." Shen muttered, wondering just who this stranger in the woods could possibly be. He continued, "Kennen and I will accompany you when he gets back from his mission."

"Are you sure all three of us should go?"

"The other Kinkou here are either too inexperienced or needed for other duties. We also want to be prepared for anything that this man could be capable of. We have few enough recruits as is, any threats to us must be addressed immediately."

Akali nodded and left to prepare.

* * *

><p>The Courier, after a couple more days of travel, realized that maybe the lack of hostility wasn't necessarily a bad thing. For once, he was relaxed during his journey, not fidgety and constantly watching his surroundings for possible attacks. It also helped that there were plenty of things for him to admire in the environment, with birds and colorful plants dotting the woods along the path instead of the bland wasteland he was accustomed to. He was enjoying himself, and even began to whistle in order to replace the lack of a radio as he walked along.<p>

This was why the bandit ambush surprised him. Out of the bushes, a group of six men in fur armor jumped onto the path and pointed an array of weapons at the Courier. Two of them stayed back among the trees with bows ready while the other four circled around him with blades. They eyed him like a pack of wolves preparing to take apart their prey. The Courier sighed to himself.

_Shit. Shouldn't have lost my attention._

A man stepped in front of the Courier, placing the edge of a rusty iron short sword on the Courier's shoulder.

"Well, what have we got here? Looks like someone got lost in our woods."

The other men snickered to themselves. Lone travelers made easy marks.

"Listen here, stranger. My friends and I, we don't like it when other people wander around in our territory. Thing is, it's been a long day and we're a little tired from killing the last few people that came through. You see that?"

The man gestured towards a skeleton that was leaning against a tree farther ahead on the path. It was posed to appear as though the victim was executed while helpless.

"We use that to scare away cowards that would run and whine to the Elders about mean bandits in the woods. That way, we only get people like _you_. People that think they're tough enough to take on whatever comes at them in the forest. Do you want to know why?"

The man grinned in a manner that would terrify lesser men. The Courier was unimpressed.

"Because they're more fun to kill. We like watching them lose hope while they bleed like stuck pigs in the dirt. We like drawing out their pain to show them that they aren't special. We like to show them that they won't get to be the big hero that everyone wants to be these days. They don't get to be loved by the people for destroying evil and saving everyone. No, they only get to die. They get to die a long, painful death at the hands of some people that they thought were just trash. Well, you know what? There aren't any heroes. There are only idiots who think that 'honorable' intentions make them invincible."

The man leaned in uncomfortably close. The Courier glared directly into the leader's eyes through his mask.

"Well, mystery man? You think you're some big damn hero? Huh? You think you can take us all on by yourself? Come on. Tell me. I want to hear you make your speech before I make you watch me pull out your guts."

The Courier, somewhat entertained that these bandits had convinced themselves that they had a purpose beyond surviving, answered the man with a chuckle. It was distorted through the filter in the gas mask, creating a strange, otherworldly sound that made the bandits around him swap nervous glances.

With a quick, smooth motion, the Courier grabbed the leader's wrist and broke it, prompting the man to scream in pain. The Courier followed that up with a stomp to his knee, crippling him. He pulled the Dinner Bell from his back while the leader fell. Taking advantage of the moment of shock the bandits were experiencing, the Courier fired a shot that blew away one of the two archers. The rest of the men snapped back to their senses and charged at the Courier while the archer moved to find a better position.

The Courier, after pumping his shotgun with lighting fast speed, proceeded to blast one of the men that attempted to engage him in melee. His fur armor did little to resist the 12 gauge magnum round, leaving the man in a pile of blood and torn flesh on the dirt.

_One disabled, two dead. Three still kicking._

The Courier ducked under the swing of one charger and swung his shotgun around to send a shot through the head of the other, leaving a bloody stump where the neck used to be. The remaining charger turned towards the Courier and attempted to strike again, only to have his arm caught mid-swing. The Courier kneed him in the stomach, causing him to fall to his knees while grimacing in pain. The Courier finished him with a shot through the head.

_Dink!_

An arrow bounced off of the Courier's pauldron and fell to the ground. He turned to find a lone man trying to string another arrow, but his hands were shaking severely. The Courier aimed and fired his shotgun once, prompting the archer to look down at what remained of his torso before falling to a bloody heap on the ground.

A quick scan of the area revealed that the injured man had run away.

_Throwing out some big speech about how tough he is, then running when the action starts? Pathetic._

The Courier took a moment to reload his shotgun before checking the bodies for anything of use.

* * *

><p><em>Gold coins. They use gold coins as currency here. That... I didn't expect that.<em>

Having lifted about 30 coins and a couple of necklaces from the bandits, the Courier now found himself traveling once again with a bit of extra caution. He didn't want to caught like that again. Although he could easily fend off any more attacks, living in the Wasteland had taught him that staying focused prevented mistakes.

Mistakes in the Wasteland were almost always fatal.

However, his mind still managed to wander a bit, returning to the questions he had previously asked himself and what information he had available.

_So. Wherever this place is, it uses gold coins as currency._

_The people seem to wear mostly light armor, even though it doesn't do much to stop bullets._

_The woods are populated with Pre-War animals somehow._

_I haven't found any radiation or mutated animals yet._

_The moon does not look normal._

It wasn't much to go on, but that was better than nothing. From what was there, the Courier was convinced that he was definitely not on the planet he was born on.

_Better find a map, just to be sure._

The Courier sighed to himself. It was obvious that he wouldn't get any answers without at least finding a town of some sort. Unfortunately, the forest seemed endless, with trees stretching on for miles. He could be traveling for months without seeing any hint of civilization, gradually growing more concerned about the status of his friends and home.

Banishing these thoughts, the Courier simply grit his teeth with frustration and journeyed forth.

* * *

><p><strong>Threw in some action and a little intrigue for fun. Hope you enjoyed reading.<strong>


	4. The Encounter

Chapter 4 - The Encounter

**I do not claim ownership of these characters. This story is being written for the entertainment of others. DON'T SUE ME, MAN.**

**I would like to thank everyone for reading this. I appreciate your support.**

* * *

><p>The Courier found that he enjoyed hunting the animals of this world, because it provided a different kind of challenge. Instead of having to desperately fight off an animal in a bid for survival, he had to sneak up on his prey and try to take it out without making the slightest mistake, for if the animal detected him, it would would run away at a baffling speed. This made killing the deer he had stalked a kind of game, one that made it satisfying to finally put a round through its heart.<p>

_Doesn't taste bad at all either. Guess heavy doses of radiation leading to horrifying mutations makes meat go a little sour. Who knew?_

He checked over his equipment again. His Dinner Bell was still in good condition after the fight, and rested on his back. His Ranger Sequoia, fully loaded and cleaned of grime, was holstered by his side. He pulled out his knife, an old blood-stained Bowie knife that had been named Blood-Nap after the red tint the knife had taken after being bathed in blood many times. The Courier strapped it to the back of his belt after ensuring that it was still razor-sharp. His armor and duster were unscathed from the battle.

_All equipment is in excellent condition. Good. I've spent a few too many nights unprepared. No monsters or raiders around to ambush me, either. Maybe I can finally get a chance to re-_

Further thought ceased as the Courier felt a slight tingle on the surface of his skin. Something was wrong. Without a word, he stood up and drew his shotgun.

A flick of a switch on the side of his helmet covered his vision in a red glow. Ignoring the glare from the fire, he scanned the trees in order to check for possible enemies. His eyes settled upon three shadows that were settled on separate branches.

"You know, I can see you." He said, raising his voice so they heard.

* * *

><p>Despite the intense mental training she had gone through to prevent paralyzing emotions, Akali froze in shock.<p>

_No. He couldn't have found us. What man can see perfectly well through the darkness of night? He couldn't have discovered us so soon._

Obviously, she had been discovered before, but it was when she was still young and foolish. She would make mistakes, but none of them had jeopardized her mission before. A touch of nervousness settled in. This mission would not be as easy as she had originally assumed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shen draw one of his swords while Kennen twitched impatiently. The man below, who had been watching carefully, raised his weapon.

"If you plan on killing me, you better pray you don't miss."

The phrase seemed to hang in the air, acting as both a challenge and a threat. Dead silence reigned in the clearing.

After some time, Shen sheathed his sword and stood.

"What are you doing?" Akali asked him.

"We are getting nowhere. We came for information, correct? Then I will negotiate."

Before Akali could argue, Shen and Kennen (who joined Shen just because he wanted something to do) had already jumped down to the ground below. Akali reluctantly joined them, kamas unsheathed and at the ready.

_He is the Eye of Shadow. I must be confident in his judgements._

"Put your weapon down." Shen ordered the man.

"I would love to, friend, but I'm afraid that'd put me at a bit of a disadvantage. I mean, I'm already outnumbered. Disarming myself would just be plain stupid, now wouldn't it?"

"You are a stranger to our lands. How can we trust you if you have your weapon pointed at us?"

"You're all strangers to me. Where I'm from, trusting strangers usually gets you killed."

"The last time we tolerated strangers, our land was invaded by an army."

"Last time I trusted strangers, I was shot in the head."

That brought a pause to the conversation. Akali took a moment to process what she heard.

_If he was truly struck in the head by one of those firearms, how is he still alive? Unless…_

She studied the man. Something about him made her uneasy. His tone and manner had an edge to them, indicating that he had experience in dangerous work. Everything about him seemed dangerous.

_This man truly is a mystery._

The silence reigned once more for several moments, time slowly trickling by as the Kinkou triumvirate closely studied the man before them, trying to anticipate any sudden movements.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Shen lowered his hands from the hilts of his swords. Following his lead, Akali put her kamas down by her sides and relaxed while Kennen put away his shuriken and stood upright.

The man considered their actions for a moment before lowering his own weapon and standing to his full height. He took the initiative to speak.

"So you're not here to kill me."

They all nodded.

"Then why were you all lurking in those trees?"

Shen stepped forward.

"We want to know what business you have here."

The man sighed heavily, or at least Akali thought it was a sigh. Something about the mask he wore distorted his voice, making it sound as if he was an automaton as opposed to a man.

"That's it?" he asked.

"Yes." Shen replied. The woods stood silent, as if all but the two talking men were holding their breath.

"I'm just passing through, friend."

"No ordinary traveller carries the weapons and armor you do."

"I'm not from around here. Traveling gets dangerous where I come from."

"Then where are you from?"

Here, the man paused. Akali tensed.

_If he came from Noxus..._

"I doubt you've heard of it."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's somewhere... very different from here. It's pretty far away."

"Then how did you get here?"

"I don't know. Woke up in a clearing in these woods a couple days ago."

Akali could tell Shen was thinking carefully. He remained quiet for some time, contemplating what to do. The stranger spoke first.

"I got no reason to lie to you."

He placed his weapon on his back and held his hands out as a sign honesty.

Shen exhaled heavily.

"Very well. It is clear you mean no harm... for now. We will not pursue you any further."

He turned to the trees, gesturing to his fellows. They hopped up to the trees above in unison.

Quite a bit of time passed before the Courier finally settled down to rest.

* * *

><p>Kennen had stayed silent for a bit too long. On the trip back to the temple, questions flew out of him as freely as falling water.<p>

"So we're done?"

"Yes."

"We won't follow him?"

"No."

"We won't kill him?"

"No."

"Will we report to the Placidium?"

"Yes."

"Was he headed towards the southern port?"

"Yes."

"Do you think he'll cause trouble on the main island?"

"No."

"Do you think we'll see him again?"

"Yes."

It continued the entire journey back, giving Akali time to think.

_He just appeared in the clearing? What does that mean? Could it have been magic? A summoner, maybe? That would explain how he came from somewhere far away._

Her brows furrowed. The man's story was perplexing.

_He was headed towards the main island. Maybe we or someone else could gather more information._

* * *

><p><strong>And that's chapter four.<strong>

**Other real life stuff I want to write about that has nothing to do with the story:**

**-Oh, I wish Fallout 4 wasn't **_**years**_** away. It doesn't help that all of the rumors and speculation were met with relative silence from Bethesda. Until then, I guess Elder Scrolls Online and Skyrim can satisfy my adventuring itch.**

**-Supposedly, Gangplank's getting a rework and I'm excited about it. Gangplank is more or less my main on League, because I always have fun when I use him. It kind of sucks as is because even though I know all of the ins and outs of playing Gangplank, someone else can play as Nasus and take advantage of his recent buff by making my life in top lane very difficult. It's silly. That's why a rework might give Gangplank a more focused role and make him more competitive against more mainstream top-tier champions, two things he sorely needs.**


	5. The Port

Chapter 5 - The Port

After a morning of travel, the Courier had finally exited the forest. The view that faced him stole the breath from his lungs.

The elevated path led him to a viewpoint at the top of a tall hill, giving him a clear view of the cape on the island's southern end. From where he was, he could gaze upon a magnificent vista. To either side of him, he could see tall, snow-capped mountains that watched unscathed over stout foothills covered by vibrant forests. To his front, a path caressed on either side by fields of flowers led to a small port where several reinforced wooden ships were anchored. The land gave way to a vast cerulean ocean, basked in light that shimmered off from above. It made a startling contrast to the wasteland the Courier was accustomed to, with giant gorges carved into mountains to make roads and most water was somewhere between a foul brown or a sickly green.

_Did Earth used to look like this?_

It was all the Courier could think as he absent-mindedly paced towards the port.

* * *

><p>The port of Haisen was a small, quiet town that primarily shipped goods and travelers between the main island of Ionia and the northwestern island that the monastery of the Kinkou was built on. Although the trade route was not the most lucrative, it was enough to support the humble port town. Elder Kinkou used to retire in peace at the port before they were nearly wiped out, leaving the port less populated than it used to be.<p>

That being said, it was still many times more successful than your average Mojave settlement, a fact that reaffirmed the Courier's suspicion that he was in a paradise. The entire town felt alive to him, with people hurrying about their business. No chem addicts or drunks littered the clean streets, and all the children he could see were accompanied by parents. In the Mojave, orphans were more common than structured families.

The Courier was met with a countless number of stares as he made his way to the town's inn. Some of the mothers he passed by would usher their children away from him while others cautiously eyed his weapons.

_Might want to wear some less frightening clothes if I find a town like this. Can't get any work if I scare everyone away. Then again, can I even get any work here? This town's pretty peaceful, and I doubt those tree folk I met would have any trouble dealing with the bandits._

He sighed. His work was only good for times of misery. He was either killing people and taking what they have, or patching people up when there were too many bodies for the medical staff on hand. He had scientific and mechanical knowledge as well, but those were situational and typically went into more efficient methods of killing robots. Half of the time people asked him for help, he would end up hurting or threatening people to get the job done. The other half were chaotic "fix this mess for us" situations where he would have to heal the wounded, kill raiders, fix whatever happened to be broken at the time, and impart wisdom like some kind of prophet from a promised land of some sort. It was hard, but desperate people pay well.

_The Mojave was a hellhole, but at least it gave me a purpose. Not really sure what to do here._

The Courier resolved to find some work, somewhere. There were always problems to solve, no matter how things were going. And if there were problems, he'd be damned if he couldn't solve them.

* * *

><p>Simply going to the innkeeper and asking for a room proved to be more of a challenge than the Courier had originally assumed.<p>

First of all, he felt a sense of… alienation the moment he stepped in. Men and women seemed to bore holes in him with their stares. As a man who had become accustomed to blending in within the Wasteland, he had associated stares with imminent danger. Unfortunately, he didn't blend in at all here, and the constant staring was wrecking havoc on his instincts. It took a great deal of self-control not to cut and run. The foreign architecture didn't help, either. The entire building was made of wood that had intricate designs and strange characters carved into it. As if there wasn't enough to remind him that he was far from home.

Second, the inn was packed to the brim with people. Apparently, a merchant fleet had stopped by and its sailors were staying for the night in Haisen's only inn. The packed environment made the Courier nervous. He was trapped in a crowd, where any of these strangers could slip a knife through his ribs. He knew no one here. There was no one he could trust. Any of these people could be hunting him…

_No. Calm down. I ain't in the Wasteland anymore. No body's here wants me dead._

The Courier took a deep breath and bore through the crowd. He wasn't susceptible to panic attacks, but crowds made him more shaky than he would prefer. It distracted him from his objectives.

He reached the innkeeper after what felt like an eternity.

"You wouldn't happen to have free bed for tonight, would you?"

The innkeeper chuckled.

"Actually, I do. Last one available. You are very lucky, I usually end up turning most away when a crowd comes in like this."

The Courier was relieved that the man didn't turn him away for looking dangerous.

"Oh, thank God. How much for it?"

"That would be 10 gold pieces."

The Courier frowned in thought from behind his mask as he dug out his gold, making sure not to give him caps out of habit. Based on the amount he typically spent to rent a room in the Wasteland (10 gold at repurposed motels), 1 gold piece here would amount to about 10 caps in the Wasteland. This left him with what amounted to 200 caps, an amount he found underwhelming compared to the 4,000 or so in the footlocker he had with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped that gold would be worth a fortune in this strange place, but now it was clear that wasn't the case. He would have to get his bearings quickly in order to acquire more funds. That involved getting a map first.

"Excuse me," the Courier asked, "but you wouldn't happen to know where I could get a map, would you?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course. There should be a cartographer's store by the port."

"Alright. Much obliged for the help, sir."

"Anytime, traveller."

The Courier walked out of the inn feeling considerably better than when he had walked in.

_At least the folks I've met so far were pleasant._

He headed towards the port, whistling a tune to himself.

* * *

><p>After days of suspecting it, the Courier finally had proof.<p>

He was in another world.

Something seemed to sink in his stomach. Granted, the Mojave Wasteland was a dangerous, radioactive, raider-infested pit filled with death and sand, but it was still the only thing he had ever called "home". As he compared the maps on his Pip-Boy to the one before him, his feeling of loss continued to worsen.

The world that the map labeled "Runeterra" was something entirely different from Earth. As opposed to several split landmasses, there was only one large landmass surrounded by groups of islands. The center landmass was split into several regions, all of which seemed to vary greatly in terrain.

In the far north of the main continent, a large region was labeled Freljord. Several drawings of snowy mountains dotted the region, and few tows were labeled.

West of Frejlord were the lands of Piltover and Zaun, two places that, judging by the designs of bubbling water and chemical waste drawn on the map, were both heavily involved in some kind of industry. The Courier grimaced. He had read about how industry (back when his home was called America) had sacrificed the environment for increased productivity in their factories. If only they knew what happens when there's nothing left.

Farther South, across the "Ironspike" mountain range, were the regions of Demacia and Noxious… no, wait, Noxus. The two appeared to be separated by marshlands and some place called the Institute of War, a name that caught the Courier's eye. It was some kind of city in the middle of the mainland, entirely separate from the other regions.

"_Institute of War"? What is that, some kind of war academy? Why the hell would a place need an "Institute of War" all by itself? Wouldn't something like that be part of a country?_

The Courier was bewildered by the lack of other institutes in the area. It was a separate, distinctly marked place in the middle of the map.

_Guess these folks really like war. Maybe there's work for me after all._

Dividing the continent was an enormous mountain range called The Great Barrier, which contained a prominent mountain creatively labeled Mount Gargantuan.

_Who the hell names a mountain Mount Gargantuan? Fella must've had a surplus of pride and a shortage of creativity. Then again, Big Mountain's not much better._

To the south, there weren't as many cities. There was the Shurima Desert and the Kumungu Jungle, which lay next to the Voodoo Lands and the Plague Jungles. All four had "Tread with caution" written on them as if their names hadn't already given that impression.

On opposite sides, the regions of Urtistan and Bandle City were written. The strange thing was that little was shown on either, other than the words "Yordle Land" was written by Bandle City.

_The hell's a yordle?_

Among the islands, there was Blue Flame Island, a place that only had a single settlement called Bilgewater. The Courier noted that a volcano was situated near it.

North of Bilgewater was Ionia, which consisted of a large landmass with three smaller islands surrounding it. Haisen was located on the edge of the north-western Ionian island, facing the mainland.

_So I'm on some island off the coast of some place called Ionia. Weird name, but I guess those are all over this map. I ought to get to the main island if I want work._

That left one place: The Shadow Isles. They were in the very north-western corner of the map, and their names were all that was written. A skull drawn next to the small islands was clearly a sign of danger.

_Oh, those islands look like trouble. Might want to head there and see what's going on._

The Courier folded the map with a sense of anticipation building in his body. This new world lay open to him like the Mojave had before, practically begging for him to wander and explore within. All he needed was money and a boat.

* * *

><p><strong>And that's it for this chapter. Thanks for reading! Feel free to voice any concerns in the reviews.<strong>


	6. The Camp

**I do not claim ownership of the characters and settings used in this work of fiction. This is being written for purely entertainment purposes.**

**I'm still working on my dialogue skills, considering that I found the previous exchange between the Courier and the Kinkou stilted and flat. If you can't tell, I'm trying to give the Courier some semblance of a Wild West cowboy accent, but I'm concerned with taking it too far in some cases and forgetting to include it in others. I also have a bit of trouble coming up with dialogue that sounds genuinely human.**

**I'm also sorry about the wait. School's been… stressful… lately. Hopefully this chapter is meaty enough to make up for the wait.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 6 - The Camp<p>

The Courier poked his food suspiciously. It was a simple dish, grilled fish served with rice, but it was entirely foreign to the Courier. Fish were rarely eaten in the Mojave, for the few pools of water one could find were either festering with radiation, mutated fish, or angry Mirelurks. This left him with the assumption that all non-canned fish should be treated with the utmost suspicion. As for the rice, this was one of the few times he had seen it cooked and properly prepared. The occasional bag of rice he had found led to him either eating it uncooked out of desperation for food or selling it to people who needed it more. He had never been given directions on how to cook rice, so he considered it to be a kind of lost art from before the apocalypse.

The serving girl came to his table. He noted that she looked tired from serving the other tables, which had been packed with the sailors from the resting merchant ship. He felt bad for the poor girl; they made inappropriate comments about her and often raked their eyes over her figure.

"Is there something wrong with your food?" she asked. Her fatigue was evident in her tone.

"No." the Courier replied, "Just… haven't eaten a fish before."

She gave him a look that reflected some mixture of confusion and curiosity before being called away to another table.

The Courier scratched his rough, dark brown beard. It would take him longer than he thought it would to adjust to this world. Granted, the tavern he had found was many times better than any watering hole in the Mojave, but the food and the drinks served were radically more unique and… tasteful. The fish was grilled and seasoned, something that would be impossible to make outside of the Ultra-Lux, where they charged outrageous sums for food and treated everyone outside of their "society" like cheap dirt. The alcohol he had ordered (they called it "saw-kay" or something like that) was tame compared to the whiskey he was used to, with a coolness instead of a burn.

His hazel eyes scanned the crowd from the corner he was situated in, far from anyone else. All he saw was local fishermen and sailors, no one with the authority or wealth to provide him with a job. Undoubtedly his fair, suntanned skin and his hard, stony features probably made him out as a foreigner to the local populace, let alone his strange armor and his choppy brown hair.

_Never should trust foreigners you've never heard of. If only I looked more like a local or had some kind of reputation. It's a shame no opportunities have come by._

"Closing time!" shouted the barkeep.

The Courier sighed, staring at his uneaten meal. He stood up from the wooden chair and wrapped the food up in some cloth.

_Waste not, want not, I suppose._

The Courier dropped five gold coins on the table as payment and slipped on his helmet. He was planning to get drunk before returning to the inn, but the local alcohol wasn't to his preference. Any respectful drinker had his own standards, after all.

He exited the tavern and made for the inn, ready for a warm bed to sleep in for once.

* * *

><p>The Courier stared blankly at the food on his cloth, a single bite missing from the cooked fish he had brought to his room.<p>

Even cold, the flavor had stunned him. There was no corrosion, no dirt, no sand, no questionable green patches, no harmful substances, not even any bugs. It was the first time he had eaten food so… _pure_. It was the first time he had ever realized how good food could taste without the impurities.

_Not even the stuff at the Ultra-Luxe was this good._

He scarfed down the rest with great gusto, giving him the most satisfying meal he had ever had. As he wiped off the oil that had settled on his mouth with the cloth, he reflected on how he was going to cross the strait between the island he was on and the Ionian mainland.

_Not staying here, that's for sure. Can't even find a good delivery job._

One thing the Courier had learned from the brief time he had spent on the island was that a courier was nigh useless to an island. Or, at the very least, the island he was currently on. The ships that regularly came often carried packages across the sea, and they only needed a runner once they got to the port town. That meant no one would want a courier at the island, especially since there was only one town and the tree folk seemed to keep to themselves.

_They probably wouldn't even want to hire me after the little scene we had in the woods._

He was reminded of his first few weeks in the Mojave. When he was desperately wandering around for whatever supplies he could find. He nearly perished from dehydration, starvation, and a shortage of ammunition many times. He didn't want to think what would have happened if he hadn't found work with the Mojave Express.

_Probably would have ended up feeding coyotes._

It was a grim thought, something he didn't need at the moment.

_Now, how in the hell am I going to get money for the bo- _

"BANDITS!"

His thoughts were interrupted as a woman ran down the road, screaming her head off.

"Bandits in the woods! They've taken my family!" she yelled as a crowd began to gather.

That was all the Courier needed to hear. He donned his armor and weapons and made his way out of the inn.

* * *

><p>By the time the Courier exited the inn, the crowd surrounding the screaming woman had broken up into murmuring groups. The citizens were hastily whispering to each other in worry, but chose to stay away from the woman. Many had split off to warn family members of the new danger on the trails.<p>

After pushing his way through the crowd, the Courier found the distressed woman feverishly explaining what happened to a few older men in gray hooded robes. He stayed back until the woman started to weep and walk away. He preferred not to get caught up in consoling victims in the event of a crisis.

The three men turned to him in mild surprise when he approached.

"Do you have business with the Elder Council, sir?" The man in the middle asked.

_So that's who these fellas are. _

"Yeah. I reckoned that I could help y'all with those bandits. Did that lady mention where they were camped?" The Courier responded.

The delegation of elders, much to the Courier's curiosity, began quickly discussing with each other in hushed tones. The man on the left, one that had a short brown beard, spoke first.

"He is not from our lands. We have no reason to trust him."

"Do we have another option? Can the Kinkou provide assistance?" The man in the middle replied. His beard was of medium length, and was fringed with gray hair that appeared to be taking over his black hair.

"No. They have not acted in the months since Zed's attack on them. How else would outlaws wreck havoc like this? This man is our only option, other than doing nothing." The man on the right said. His beard was the longest, and was colored pure white.

Short Beard sighed and shook his head before turning to the Courier.

"It seems that we have no choice but to ask for your help. How much do you want in return for your assistance?"

The question took the Courier off guard. Usually, he talked about the price _after_ the deed was done. Even then, he had no idea what the typical rate for this kind of work was in this land. He was also unsure about his original estimate of how the foreign currency compared to his caps.

"How about I take care of the bandits first and y'all can figure out my pay later?"

The men nodded in approval of his suggestion. Long Beard stepped forward.

"Thank you for coming to help us, traveller. It is rare that those outside of Ionia try to help us."

* * *

><p>The Courier pulled the footlocker behind him as he made his way along the forest trail. On his belt were his holstered Ranger Sequoia and Blood-Nap, which always remained as his back-up weapons. On his back rested a massive anti-materiel rifle, a beast of a gun with a fluted barrel nearly as long as a man's leg that ended with a large muzzle brake that was modified to suppress the weapon's sound. If there was no brake, the mere recoil from shooting the huge .50 MG bullets it fired would break the gun and most likely shatter the shooter's arm.<p>

_Maybe I'm being little harsh, using this monster on those poor fellas. Lord knows what it'll do to them won't be pretty._

Even though the Courier had other scoped rifles, he found the anti-materiel rifle was easier for picking raiders off quietly. You didn't have to worry about head shots if you could just blow your targets apart in one shot.

He turned off of the path to head up a hill overlooking the clearing that the woman's family was ambushed near. He drew the anti-materiel rifle and thought about what his plan would be.

_First things first. I should scope out the clearing so I can find out where they came from._

He walked up the hill, pushing through bushes and tree branches in order to break from the border of the forest into the clear hill. The hill overlooked the wide, flower-covered clearing, with a single tree at the top. The lonely tree seemed to be watching over the scene, a guardian of nature keeping vigil over the gentle flowers. It made the Courier somber when he wondered if Earth once held the same kinds of pictures.

_Now it's just a heat-blasted rock where people kill each other for cans of expired food and cigarettes. Huh. Kind of funny how the Mojave never seemed like such a piss-hole until I came here._

The Courier pulled the bipod out from the barrel of his anti-materiel rifle and laid down onto the grass on the top of the hill. Through the scope, the Courier found the bandits' camp, a loose collection of fur-lined tents surrounding an extinguished fire pit. Animal carcasses hung from racks that were located around the fire.

_I reckon these fellas have been robbing the village folk of their livestock. Some things never change._

The Courier grimaced as he saw a pair of wooden cages holding two sets of prisoners under a cloth supported by tall sticks. One cage held a man with graying hair and a traveler's robe as well as a young girl in a little dress. The man was speaking to her gently, most likely to keep her calm. The other cage held a man roughly in his twenties who was wearing a pair of blue pants and some tattered blue cloth on his shoulders. He was also wearing segmented metal armor composed of a large left shoulder guard, a pair of bracers, and shin guards. His hair was tied back into a large ponytail. The man in blue was meditating in his cage.

The Courier swept his gaze around the camp, counting the men he saw.

Three were conversing on the west side of the camp.

One was skinning something small near the fire pit.

Two were shooting at a tree with bows.

Two just went into a tent to the northeast.

Two were playing some kind of card game near the cages.

One man was sharpening a blade in front of the largest tent in the camp. He was dressed differently than the other men, with chain mail layered under segments of fur clothing.

_Hostages. If I want to do this clean, I'm gonna have to go down there._

The Courier knew how hostage situations could go poorly. If a sniper is discovered, which was inevitable in a the men holding prisoners would pull them out as human shields or execute them as a threat. That meant that the Courier would have to enter the camp and pick off the guards in front of the cages in order to prevent them from pulling out the prisoners, allowing him to take care of the rest without the danger of losing anyone.

The Courier opened up his footlocker, breaking the anti-materiel rifle back down into large parts and storing it. He then pulled out his .45 and attached a suppressor to the end of it. The gun was oiled and loaded, it's HD slide clean of its former coating of blood and canyon dust. It wasn't A Light Shining in Darkness, but it was quiet and deadly. That was all the Courier needed.

The Courier fished out one last item, a round machine with the words "Stealth Boy" printed on the side, before heading down the side of the hill.

* * *

><p>"Straight." One man said as he laid his hand out on the wooden table with a smirk.<p>

"Oh, fuck me, are you serious? That's all of my cut you're taking!" the other man said as he put his own hand down. All he had was a pair of fives.

"Maybe you shouldn't have bet it, then."

"You know I can't resist a game of chance."

"Yeah. I know. Between the hagglers in the taverns and me, it's amazing you can even afford to eat."

"Just you wait. One day I'll have a stroke of luck."

"Well, until then, Adlan, I'll keep taking your money."

"You're an asshole, you know that, Haddock? Let's play again."

Both men redrew and threw three gold coins on to the table.

As Adlan looked at his hand, a voice spoke up behind him.

"I'd bet high if I were you, friend."

"Thanks." He chuckled before he and Haddock both paused. They had never heard that voice before.

"Wait, who-" Adlan cut himself off as he turned around. No one was there.

"Hey, Haddock, you heard that, right?" Adlan said as he turned back towards the table. His friend was nowhere to be seen. Adlan slowly peered over the edge of the table. He gasped in horror as he saw his friend lie upon the ground, his blood pouring out of a wide gash that was savagely impressed upon his open neck. Precious crimson fluid still gushed from the wound, forming a warm puddle beneath his lifeless body. He turned to yell to his comrades, but found his mouth constricted by an invisible hand.

"Your friend over there had a flush, by the way." said the disembodied voice from before.

Adlan had no chance to fight back as his own throat was slit.

* * *

><p>The Courier managed to coax the father and the little girl out of their cage after convincing them that he had no reason to hurt them. It helped that he disabled the cloaking field projected by the Stealth-Boy to talk to them. He moved to the other cage to free the lone man, but was met by a steely gaze while he was picking the padlock.<p>

"Who are you?" the man in blue remarked, lacking any sense of urgency. The Courier glanced up at him.

"I don't think now's the time for this, friend. If those fellas jump me from behind, I don't reckon that you'll be out of harms way." the Courier replied. The other man shook his head.

"Well, I 'reckon' that you should leave me here," the man said, placing his hands behind his head and leaning back. "I was just getting comfortable, and it's not like the world out there is in a rush to have me back in it." Upon hearing this, the Courier paused his work and stared at the man.

"I'm killing all of them bandits, you know. If I don't get you out now, you'll just be sitting here." The man in blue shrugged in response.

"Safer in here than it is out there. At least in here, people aren't trying to kill me" he said. The Courier pulled his screwdriver and his bobby pin out of the cage's lock.

"And what kind of shit did you get into that'd make you stay in this here cage?"

"Don't you know who I am?" The man's tone shifted to slight confusion as he spoke.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Should I?" The Courier asked.

"I am Yasuo, the Unforgiven. Most of Ionia wants me dead due to a... misunderstanding."

The Courier, to Yasuo's surprise, chuckled to himself.

"If it's a misunderstanding, then killing you ain't my concern, friend. These bandits? They kidnapped that fella and his daughter. That's why I'm here. Y'all don't need to worry about me if that's the case. So, are you gonna stay in there or not?"

Yasuo regarded the Courier with a mix emotions. Naturally, he held some suspicion of the man's intentions, but now he considered trusting his words. The man was correct in that there was no reason for the two to fight based on a misunderstanding, but it could have been a fib. Yasuo did have a rather high bounty on his head, after all. Yasuo weighed his thoughts for a moment before coming to conclusion.

"Well, if that's the case, then I'm alright with you letting me out." The Courier began finishing what he started with the lock, eventually opening it and swinging the door to the cage open. Yasuo got up and exited the cage, watching the Courier in order to see if he would attack.

"See?" the Courier said, holding out his arms, "You ain't my concern."

"I see that. Uh, sorry about not trusting you. It's easy to forget that there are kind strangers in the world when many are hunting you down" Yasuo said while scratching the back of his head. The Courier chuckled in sympathy.

"I know the feeling, friend. I used to have packs of shit-heads following me around whenever I hit the trail. Well, y'all better get going soon. I need to finish off these assholes." Upon hearing this, Yasuo looked at the Courier in surprise. Before he could inquire, however, the Courier drew his .45 and began to head towards the camp in a crouched position. Yasuo trotted up next to him and crouched as well, earning a curious glance from the Courier.

"Listen, these bandits have my sword. It's kind of important to me, and I need it to travel on the road." Yasuo explained quickly. The Courier put his hand to his face mask.

"Where was this sword when we were talking by the cages?" the Courier inquired, his voice low. Yasuo rubbed the back of his head.

"I thought that I would get a chance to escape and take it by myself when these bandits stopped to turn me in," Yasuo replied.

"Unarmed?"

"I don't need a sword to fight a few bandits."

"A few, maybe, but the whole damn camp? I ain't sure if you remember, but these fellas had you in a cage, friend."

"They caught me off-guard," Yasuo replied with a dismissive wave, "I, uh, had a bit too much to drink and I stumbled into them. In an honorable fight, I could take these guys with one arm."

The Courier scoffed.

"I don't care how much 'honor'-" The Courier abruptly stopped speaking. A man had walked around the tent the two men were using as cover, coming to a halt in order to stare at the two for a brief moment. The man jerked himself out of his stupor and yelled out an alarm before the Courier had time to stand and shoot him in the forehead. The Courier didn't waste any time; he grabbed Yasuo by the arm and pulled him to a standing position.

"Get your damn sword before those assholes surround us," the Courier hissed through clenched teeth. Both men broke into a sprint, Yasuo heading towards the tent that the bandits used to store weapons. The Courier entered the tent first to check for enemies, and found two men, both armed with crude axes. The Courier shot one through the neck, leaving him gurgling his own blood in the dirt. The other bandit rose his axe to strike the Courier, but was blown out through the other side by a powerful gust of wind.

"Wait, what the hell was that?" the Courier sputtered, turning towards the entrance of the tent. Yasuo was standing next to him, his right hand thrusted forwards in a stabbing motion. He took a breath before standing straight.

"Told you I could handle myself." Yasuo said. He noticed that the Courier was staring at him.

"You're not from around here, are you? That was a wind technique. It's... not practiced by many anymore." Upon hearing this the Courier shook his head.

_This gets stranger every day._

Resolving to reflect on Yasuo's abilities later, the Courier looked through the flaps of the tent while Yasuo searched the loose collection of weapons for his sword. The bandits had regrouped and were advancing on the tent quickly.

"Now, I'd hate to rush you, but the whole damn camp is after our asses, and I ain't exactly equipped for fighting off a band of angry fellas surrounding us at all sides," the Courier growled with increasing frustration. Yasuo just sighed and shook his head.

"Well, it's not like you're surrounded by weapons or anything. Maybe instead of sitting there, you could, I don't know, pick one up?" Yasuo said, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. The Courier decided not to snark back and looked through the collection of weapons. Most of the weapons present on the racks were dull or rusty, making them poor weapons to rely on.

_At this rate, I might as well use Blood-Nap instead of trying to find something with more reach. I ain't exactly keen on fighting with just a knife and a pea-shooter, but I might have to at this rate._

The Courier's eyes then fell upon a chest, one that was closed with a clean, freshly shined padlock. He wasted no time in pulling out his screwdriver and a bobby pin and quickly picked the lock, getting the chest open in seconds. Inside, he found a pair of swords. He pulled out the first one, a very slender curved blade with a well-shined sheath that was designed to make it appear as though the sword was part of a painting. Near the cross guard, artistically designed lines made it appear as though the sword was in mid-swing, with wind whistling past it as it sought out its target. The handle was wrapped in worn leather straps, making it evident that the sword had seen plenty of use. Yasuo turned to see the Courier holding it, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Hey, you found my sword! Toss it here, friend." he chirped. The Courier handed it to him, allowing Yasuo to scan the sheath for any additional damage. He unsheathed the blade, revealing it to be very well shined and maintained, with the intricate designs running down its length shown to be well preserved. Yasuo sighed in relief and rested the blade on his shoulder. The Courier then pulled out the second sword in the chest, which was remarkably less intricate in design. The sheath was simple tanned leather, which was plain yet tough. The handle was wrapped tightly in cloth, and both the cross guard and pommel were utilitarian in design. Unsheathing the blade revealed it to be edged on both sides and well-worn. The blade appeared to have been used in a plethora of tough fights, as given by the multitude of scratches and missing bits of metal in its broad length. However, the blade was still very well maintained, for the edge was still very sharp and the metal was still very sturdy. A glyph of some sort was lain on the blade just above the cross guard. The Courier took a breath and turned to Yasuo.

"Well, they sure as shit should have surrounded this tent by now. You ready?" the Courier asked. Yasuo nodded.

"Do you have any idea why they haven't rushed us by now?" Yasuo inquired. The Courier chuckled darkly to himself.

"Well, after what I did to their friends, they're probably trying to ambush us. They ain't good enough to charge us in here 'cause they would have to fight us in small groups. Out there? They can jump us all at once out there." Upon hearing this, Yasuo nodded to himself, and walked towards the exit with the Courier.

"We better hit them at one side, then. If they have the tent surrounded, then they won't know which side we'll come at them from. If we break through their formation, then we can fight them all on one side." Yasuo mused. The Courier was impressed with his tactical sense.

"Well, that might just work. You ready?" the Courier asked, hand firmly gripping his sword.

"Ready." Yasuo said. Both men burst out of the tent, finding that the bandits had formed a loose circle around the tent. The two swordsmen struck down the two men directly in the way of their charge, the Courier slashing one's throat and Yasuo stabbing one through the tent. The other bandits recovered quickly from the shock of the boldness of the two men and grouped up in front of a large man in fur-layered chain mail. The large man, who was evidently the leader, barked at his men to charge at the two warriors. The three men with melee weapons charged as two archers behind them nocked their arrows. The Courier faced a man who had charged in with a battle axe, who was now lifting the weapon above his head and belching out a mighty roar. The attempt at intimidation did not faze the Courier, who stepped to the side to let the axe hit the dirt before slashing the back of his leg, severing it below the knee. The axe wielder let out a cry of pain and fell on all fours, allowing the Courier to stab him in the back.

Yasuo was fighting two swordsmen by himself, but showed no hint of panic. He smoothly slid out of the way of their strikes and took advantage of his blade's length by eviscerating one of the men from outside of the man's range. The other man, incensed by his friend's death, charged Yasuo with a cry, only to find himself run through by his blade. He stared at the sword that was stuck in his gut for a moment before falling backwards.

The Courier leaned to the right in order to dodge an arrow shot by one of the archers. He retaliated by pulling out his .45 with his free hand and shooting the offending bandit twice in the chest. He then aimed at the other archer, only to find that Yasuo had decapitated him already.

Both men turned towards the last bandit left, the large man in fur-layered chain mail. He grit his teeth and let out a guttural growl, brandishing an axe in his right hand and a sword in the left. Yasuo and the Courier circled to opposite sides of him, preparing for an opportune moment to strike.

"You _dare_ come here," the bandit leader growled, "into _my_ camp, and slay my brethren right in front of me?! You… you will _pay!_ No one butchers my men and gets away! I will BREAK you!"

He charged both at Yasuo, ignorant of the Courier behind him, and swung both of his weapons downwards with crushing force. Yasuo dodged out of the way and stabbed his sword forward, sticking it into the leader's arm. The leader bellowed in pain, and began swinging violently at Yasuo. While the strikes were easily avoided, the man kept swinging, blinded by his rage and distress. The Courier crept up behind him, longsword in hand, and stuck his sword through the man's back, severing his spine. The man collapsed with a roar, laying on his back but still blindly swinging his weapons. Now that the man was immobilized, both Yasuo and the Courier saw how wild and uninhibited his strikes had become. They both stepped to the side as the man hurled both of his weapons at them. After that, he appeared to give up, slumping back onto the ground with a dull thud.

"What… why was he like that?" Yasuo asked, "His mouth was foaming, and his eyes were blood-shot… why?"

"You ever crushed a band of bandits like this? With a leader and all?" the Courier asked. Yasuo shook his head in response, to which the Courier sighed.

"Death… folks panic in the face of death. Fellas like you and me? We're used to it. We could have died thousands of times before today. This one? He ain't used to death like us. Seeing the two of us wipe out his 'brothers' in no time made him panic. It don't help that he was also pretty pissed, too."

Yasuo looked at the man with a thoughtful expression, as if he was seeing the bandit in a new light. The Courier sighed heavily and unholstered his .45. He walked up to the bandit leader on the ground, his pitiful expression hidden behind his impassive mask. The Courier leveled his gun at the man's forehead. The leader looked up at the Courier, his eyes wide open. His expression was not one of anger, or fear, but of resolution. His eyes seemed to beg the Courier for death, some way to go back to his fallen brethren so he can find peace beyond the realm of the living. It was an expression that puzzled the Courier, for it was one he had never seen in a fallen foe. Most Raiders feared death greatly and Fiends were too displaced from reality to see that they were dying. This man before him was different from the bandits of the Mojave. This man fought with pride.

"It's alright." The Courier assured him. "You can rest now."

Although the suppressor muffled the gunshot, the silence that followed was no less imposing.

* * *

><p><strong>Good God, this took a while. But hey, my school year ends in a few days, so I'll be able to write more diligently in the following months.<strong>

**Just to let you know, in case you're worried, the Kinkou Triumvirate is not out of the story. Yasuo made a brief appearance here, but I plan to include all of the Ionian champions during the Courier's time there. Each nation under the League will get its own arc, and the characters will be placed in their appropriate setting. However, that doesn't mean the League is off-limits. The story, to be frank, is somewhat open-ended for now.**

**Maybe I'll put a couple things to vote. like pairings or where the Courier goes next.**

**Anyway, I appreciate all of your reviews. As a first fanfic, your advice is very helpful.**


	7. The Camp, Aftermath

Chapter 7 - The Camp, Aftermath

**I do not own any of the characters or settings portrayed in this story. This story is being written purely for entertainment, not for profit.**

**Now, I understand it has been a while. I'd like to apologize for forcing all of you to wait, but 2014 hasn't been too kind to me. Maybe with the new year things will improve.**

**I also apologize if it seems like I'm doting a bit on the island the Courier is on instead of cutting straight to the mainland in order to quickly transition to the other settings, but I feel like I should provide an explanation for how the Courier could afford the voyage. Yasuo's involvement was just my attempt at making the bandit raid more… relevant.**

—**-**

Courier's POV

Yasuo watched the Courier curiously as the masked wanderer picked at the bodies of the fallen bandits. Night had fallen quickly after the battle, so the two men agreed that they might as well take advantage of the bandits' camp instead of setting up their own. The Courier, owing more to habit than necessity, decided to start looting bodies as soon as the fire was lit.

"You know," Yasuo began, tired of the silence, "you're lucky that I'm not religious or philosophical. If any of the monks back on the mainland found you looting the dead, they'd be stuck between having a panic attack and trying to tear you apart." The Courier gave an indignant snort in response.

"If it's such a big problem, then I'll bury 'em when I'm finished. That should… balance my karma or whatever your monks worry about," The Courier said. Yasuo chuckled to himself.

"That sounds more like a Kinkou than a monk," he remarked.

"Yeah, about that, you mind telling me what a Kinkou is supposed to be?" the Courier asked, turning from a body he had pilfered some clean furs off of. Yasuo stared at him in surprise for a moment before answering.

"That's right, you're from far away. The Kinkou are a… well, they call themselves an order of warriors that are dedicated to 'balance'. They believe that balance must be maintained in everything at all times, so they train ninjas to assassinate certain targets and perform certain tasks in order to prevent whatever the hell they think imbalance will bring," Yasuo explained, a hint of venom seeping into his voice. "To tell you the truth, their philosophy keeps them from doing any real good. For every favor they do for the people that settle here, they do something else to hurt them. Instead of fulfilling a purpose, they just hide in the shadows and do whatever they think is necessary. _Never_ trust a Kinkou. They don't fight for the greater good, or money, or even for the good of Ionia. They only fight for balance, and will do anything to maintain it." During Yasuo's explanation, he glared into the shadows, as if a Kinkou were watching them at that very moment. The Courier thought on the swordsman's words, staring at the ground before him as he processed what that meant for his previous encounter for them.

_If they saw me as a threat, then they would've attacked me. But they didn't._

The Courier's eyes drifted towards the collection of bodies that littered the ground.

_If I keep goin' like this, killing men as I please, will they send assassins after me?_

The Courier disdainfully shook his head, continuing to pick valuables off of the corpses.

_This gets stranger every day._

—-

Yasuo's POV

The Courier was pouring dirt on to the fire as Yasuo got out of the tent he 'borrowed'. The Courier's turn to watch over the camp was the last of the night, and now the sun hung lazily above the horizon in the east. The bodies that were present the previous night were gone, replaced by a large rectangular patch of bare dirt. The empty camp was the only evidence left of the bandits' existences. Yasuo stretched and moved to sit by the remains of the fire, noticing that The Courier was staring distantly at the horizon.

"Something on your mind?" Yasuo inquired after a moment of silence. The Courier turned his head slightly in acknowledgement before giving an answer.

"Yeah. Been thinking about the bandits we killed yesterday." The Courier replied, nudging his head towards the bare patch of dirt left from burying their bodies.

"What about it?" Yasuo asked. To him, the fight was like any other he had fought outside of the League. Men fell before him like wheat to a scythe, and the only unique aspect of the conflict was the fact that The Courier was involved.

"I reckoned that they would put up more of a fight. Killing them felt too easy."

_Well, _Yasuo thought, _That's different. I didn't take him for the honorable kind._

"Why would you want it to be more difficult?" Yasuo asked, "I thought that you would prefer it if we easily defeated the enemy than, say, get severely wounded during the battle."

"That ain't what I meant. I don't like it when I shoot a fella and it feels like he didn't put up a fight. It feels like I went and murdered someone without giving them a chance. It's no way to die." Yasuo blinked. What The Courier said went against Yasuo's previous assumption of how he saw fighting. He had assumed The Courier was a survival-driven fighter, the type of man he often saw on the many roads he had travelled. Those types of men would fight without honor or glory, instead choosing to avoid any confrontation and resorting to dirty tricks and underhanded tactics in order to guarantee their victory. Yasuo had firsthand experience dealing with their kind after more than a few recognized him for the hefty price on his head.

The Courier interrupted Yasuo's musing by speaking again.

"My homeland ain't exactly as… lively as yours. It's a hard place, where food and water are hard to come by and everything you look at might as well try to kill you. The bandits there are more desperate and vicious than here 'cause they need everything they can get their hands on to survive. They attack everyone they see and take everything they find because they can't afford to hold back. And I mean _everyone_. Military bases, fortified settlements, random wanderers on the road, everyone. If your bandits were like my bandits, that town down the road would have been a flaming hole in the ground, considering that it has fuck-all for defenses." The Courier sighed, maintaining his focused gaze on the ashes. "They fought as hard as they could because they couldn't afford to lose. Even when they're friends are dead and they're all alone, they ain't finished. They pretend they're done, cowerin' and grovelin' and beggin' for forgiveness and then they'll shoot your ass the second you turn around to move on. Those fine gentlemen over there-" -The Courier jerked his thumb towards the fresh pile of dirt- "-fought us head-on, two at a time, and took death like men instead of kickin' and screamin' while they bled out. They fought to the death without cheating or taking advantage of us." The Courier's voice suddenly dipped low. "And you know that girl and her daddy? They would have been long gone if these bandits were like the ones I've seen. It's bad where I'm from, Mr. Yasuo. Never underestimate how hard a man'll fight when his life's on the line."

Silence followed. Yasuo wasn't quite sure what to say. From the Courier's description, his homeland was more barren and hostile than the Shurima Desert or Freljord could even hope to be. Questions drifted around in Yasuo's head. What could the Courier have seen that convinced him that _bandits_ had some notion of honor? Groups of marauders that fell upon passerby for the sake of easy money struck Yasuo as the lowest kind of filth, yet The Courier told him that his home was frequented by worse.

_I wouldn't like to face whatever monsters that man has fought, I can be sure of that._

Yasuo shook his head and pulled out his flask. He needed a drink to help wrap his mind around the curious case that was his current companion. He pulled the top off of the skin and took a sip before offering it to The Courier. Maybe he would get to see what was under that mask before they parted ways.

"Would you like some?" he asked. The Courier's head turned towards him and stayed still for a moment before he spoke.

"It's a little early for that, ain't it?" the masked man responded, making no motion to take the container. Yasuo chucked.

"It's just a sip. A good drink before a long day's work never hurt anyone." Yasuo accompanied this statement with a wink that brought a chuckle out of The Courier.

"I can't disagree with a love for good booze, friend, but last time I drank on the trail... unfortunate things happened."

Yasuo considered pursuing the line of inquiry, but let it drop when he saw that The Courier was staring deeply into the fire like he was trying to forget something.

"Suit yourself," said the samurai, strapping the skin back on to the belt. No more words were spoken between the two while they idly fiddled with their weaponry.

Yasuo checked his blade for any concerning chips or gashes that could have been made in the metal while he was imprisoned.

Courier's POV

The Courier checked his .45 for grime or rust and loaded the magazines with bullets. After checking the pistol, he replaced it in its holster with A Light Shining in Darkness. This pistol was designed with a rattlesnake pattern on the wood of the hilt and a pair of phrases written in Greek along the slide. The Courier couldn't read it, but Joshua Graham had told him it said "and the light shineth in the darkness" on on side and "and the darkness comprehended it not" on the other.

In terms of performance, ALSD was a compact pistol that fired .45 Auto rounds, but differed from his previous pistol in the fact that it did not have a threaded barrel section jutting beyond the slide, making it impossible to manually attach a suppressor. It made up for it by having better fire rate, stopping power, and accuracy, as well as being smaller and lighter. It was an excellent handgun that The Courier preferred to keep on hand whenever he expected lightly armored targets in the event of a fight, which would be the most likely combat situation out of what he had seen in the forest. Fur and leather was fairly poor at stopping bullets, after all.

There was a weapon for any possible combat situation. Full-auto weapons and smaller pistols for faster, lighter enemies. Slower, heavier guns and energy weapons for armored foes. Melee weapons for close-quarters combat and hostile animals. Explosives for groups of enemies and vehicles. One of his many lessons from the Mojave.

The Courier then checked the nameless sword he acquired the previous night. It was sturdy, sharp, and well balanced, but that wasn't the issue. After seeing Yasuo fluidly dispatch the bandits with practiced motions, The Courier became aware of the fact that he was no swordsman. He could dodge and cut, that was evident, but he didn't have the experience or the training in sword-to-sword combat that he was sure the better fighters in Ionia had in spades. If he was caught in an intense close-quarters situation, such as a duel or ambush, he would be hopelessly outmatched. Normally, he would fight dirty (fight "smart" as some called it) to make up for his lack of training, but that would only go so far. If he was going to survive in Ionia, he would have to either avoid fights (which was as plausible as eating the Sun as far as his luck went), get some training from someone else (which involved time, money, and dedication that he didn't have the patience to get), or try to practice whenever he had the time and try to… develop his own style or something along those lines.

He would have asked Yasuo for a spar, but figured that he would get beaten in a matter of seconds and end up getting back to town tired and angry.

"You ready to go?" The Courier asked, standing up from the fireside.

"I guess I am. Where are you headed?" the swordsman replied, strapping his impressive blade back onto his belt as he stood up.

"The port town out west," The Courier said. "You?"

"Wherever the wind takes me," Yasuo answered with a sigh. "I've got nowhere to-"

"Nowhere to go?" The Courier surmised. Yasuo raised an eyebrow.

"Old words, friend." the Courier stated simply, squatting down to grip the handle of his footlocker. "You ain't the only lonesome traveller out there."

Yasuo gave him another wary gaze before sheathing his blade and standing up. The Courier followed suit, deciding that ALSD would be enough to fend off anything the local wildlife could throw at him.

"Does that mean you won't head to town?" The Courier asked.

"I'm afraid not. I'd rather avoid conflict when I can, and the people around here still want to kill me," the swordsman replied.

"If that's the case, then why're you still here? You could'a gone, I don't know, _somewhere_ else instead o' wanderin' 'round these parts where people want you dead."

Yasuo turned his gaze to the horizon beyond the trees. His eyes settled into a glare and his hand absently clutched the hilt of his sword. He pursed his lips for a moment before speaking.

"I have something to take care of in this land," the swordsman stated. The Courier nodded in response.

_He's got a score to settle. Just like when I was hunting down Benny._

"Well, good luck in any case. I really need to head off now," The Courier said with a wave.

Yasuo raised a hand in farewell as the two men headed off in opposite directions.

—-

The village elders were very grateful when The Courier reported to them. The woman's husband and daughter had made it back home safely, much to her relief. They thanked The Courier profusely and offered him many things in compensation, but he settled for a "thank you" and a small pouch of 50 gold pieces. The Courier stuffed the pouch into his belt and walked towards the docks, spotting a large ship that was being loaded.

It was about time he got to the main island of Ionia.


	8. The Monkey

**I am very, very sorry about how unforgivably slow I've been. The past year has been riddled with difficulty and medical issues (mono sucks), so I've found myself unable to gather the proper motivation to do, well, anything. I'm getting better, though, and hopefully things keep improving.**

—**-**

Chapter 8 - The Monkey

Courier's POV

In the wasteland, most water was often thick with filth and radiation, typically taking on a slight brownish-green tint. Clean, untarnished bodies of water were very difficult to come by (any sources that had been purified were still open to abuse and exposure to present radiation), and those few accessible often became the sites for small trade towns like Goodsprings. These towns prospered and grew more often than not, showing just how valuable good water had become following the apocalypse.

Ionia's waters hadn't been brutally tainted by the deadliest weapons of mankind, so they maintained a cerulean hue that hid a bounty of natural prosperity. Fish often broke the surface and flew above the sun-kissed waves for a moment before splashing back into the indigo depths.

It was a shame The Courier was too busy hurling out his insides to enjoy the view.

_Fuck ships. Fuck ships to the Divide and back._

He dry-heaved a couple time as the ship jerked towards a port town on Ionia's main island. As a man accustomed to being on the ground at all times, The Courier had developed a bit of a sensitivity to motion sickness. That left him spending the entire ship journey glued to the railing and puking what little he had eaten.

"Uh… sir? Would you like help getting to the dock?"

The Courier took a deep breath before slipping his helmet and mask back over his head. The voice was obviously one of the sailors that operated the boat, and they had all been surprisingly accommodating. The trip had only cost him 15 gold and he had a nice, isolated place in the crew's quarters.

The men still avoided him after they saw his mask and his guns, though.

"I'll be fine." The Courier said while shaking his head.

The Courier picked up his footlocker, eager to get his feet back on solid ground. After shaking hands with the captain, a rather jolly, bearded man, The Courier made his way to the port town in order to get his bearings.

The port town of Tatsumi is one of the major ports of the main island of Ionia, making it a very busy city that dealt in trade. Races from across Runeterra gather in the city in order to do business, making the city more or less a melting pot of cultures. Ionians, Demacians, Freljordans, Noxians (rarely) and even yordles from Bandle City mixed together while doing business.

In fact, there was a sizable crowd people milling about beyond the docks. The Courier gulped.

_Okay. Okay. Just a few people, come on. You've seen how nice folks are around here, so there's no need to get jumpy._

He took a deep breath and advanced across the wooden dock. His breathing rapidly went from slow to hurried, something that worsened as he took note of the multiple stares people were giving him. The disturbing helmet and the shades of red that were visible on his coat obviously drew attention to him, making his dilemma far more intense than it needed to be. Looks of caution, wonder, and fear, all causing spears of paranoia shooting through him.

_get out get out get out_

He pushed his way through a pair of doors that led into a building as the world continued to close in on him. He didn't really care what the building was, he just needed to _escape_.

His world seemed to open up slightly as he entered, allowing him to take in the relatively small amount of people present. He took a seat to get his bearings.

The room was almost identical to the inn he had seen on Haisen, but larger in scale. the clientele also seemed to be more varied, for The Courier could see people of varying skin tones and clothing styles sitting at the tables strewn about the ground floor.

Despite the variety present, many still looked at him with apprehension. The Courier decided to cross the room and talk to the proprietor in hopes of getting a room.

—-

Wukong's POV

"Ahri, are we gonna do something, or just sit around?"

On a rooftop, two curious beings idly sat and watched the afternoon traffic trickle by. One was covered head to toe in fur and had a long, brown tail that idly swished around in the air. He was dressed in highly decorative armor with a red scale pattern and a gold trim. His face, akin to that of a monkey, rested on his palm.

"Of _course_ we'll do something, Wu! Don't you trust me?" the woman next to him chirped. She was dressed in a long-sleeved kimono that only stretched from her shoulders to her thighs. Her long, raven black hair flowed down to her waist. On her head sat a pair of fox ears and nine pure white tails idly twirled about behind her.

"I do, but all we've been doing so far is just watch people walk around," Wukong said. "There's no challenge. It's _boring_."

"Oh, come on, Wu. Aren't you curious? I mean, everything they do is so _different_ from the forest. I don't know how they can stand it. Most of them do the same thing every day and never seem to get tired of it," Ahri responded. Her eyes were flowing with the late afternoon traffic, following the laborers as they moved goods and wandered around.

"Well, yeah. It's the same thing every day. How is it fun to watch them if nothing changes?"

The Monkey King's companion rolled her eyes in response and turned back to the traffic. She blinked as she watched a boy be chased out of a shop, with a strangely dressed man at his heels.

"Well," she muttered as the chaser yelled various obscenities, "_that__'__s_ certainly different."

Wukong rushed passed her with his staff in hand.

"Come on! Let's follow them!"

—-

Courier's POV

Not even a day in town and some little shit had already stolen his money. The kid almost got away with it, too, but no one makes it in the Wasteland without a constant sense of awareness and a healthy amount of paranoia.

"Get the fuck back here before I _waste_ your hide, you little prick!" he yelled at his quarry. The kid ran, appropriately enough, as if Death himself was chasing him down. He slipped through stalls and under fences, but The Courier stayed right on his heels. After a solid five minutes of constant running, he made a wrong turn and ran smack into a wall. He backed up and looked around, only to find himself surrounded by walls. Dead end.

The Courier shoved the kid against the wall at the end of the alley and checked him for weapons. Eventually, he turned the kid around and held out his hand.

"My money," he growled out. The boy shook his head.

"I-I-I can't. M-m-my sister n-needs it," he stuttered. The Courier's hand slipped to his belt and pulled out Blood-Nap. The foot long blade rested under the boy's chin.

"You don't think I've heard that one before?"

The boy froze, but refused to move at all. Before the Courier could terrify him further, something smacked him on the side of his head and sent him stumbling to the side.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own size, big man?" a young-sounding voice called out. The Courier whirled around to find a man… no, wait, some kind of man-monkey hybrid idly twirling a staff in the air. The boy bolted past The Courier and slipped around the corner. The Courier grit his teeth and made to follow, but found himself stepping back as the monkey-man's staff swung at the air in front of him.

"Hey," his furry opponent said, "calm down there. You're dealing with _me_, now." The Courier stepped forward and drew his sword, only to see the man disappear in a puff of smoke. Before he could get a good look around to see where the furry man had gone, The Courier found himself launched out of the alley and into the side-street as something hit his back with the force of a charging Brahmin.

_First some random kid steals my money, and now I'm fighting some monkey man that can disappear into thin air. I hate this town already._

The Courier pulled himself up as laughter reached his ears.

"Is that all you've got?" The monkey-man mocked, "I thought you'd be a _challenge_, but I guess not." The Courier pulled himself up and backed up to get a bit of space. His opponent immediately stepped forward and swung his weapon, and The Courier leaned back to dodge it.

He would have avoided the attack, too, but the staff seemed to _stretch_ in the monkey man's hands so that it could hit him. His head jerked as the staff struck him, but his helmet stayed strong.

_My armor'll take his attacks, but I ain't keen on putting it to the test._

The Courier put his fists up.

_I also ain't keen on killing anyone for something this stupid._

He ducked as the staff came towards his head. As he lowered his posture, he darted forward in an attempt to tackle his opponent. He passed right through as the monkey-man disappeared. Although the disappearing act caught him slightly by surprise, he knew what was coming next. He twirled around to see a furry figure rocketing towards him with its staff pointed at the center of his chest. The Courier sidestepped the tip of the weapon and swung his left arm out to catch his opponent's head. The monkey ducked under the clothesline and jumped upwards. He twisted in midair and brought his staff over his head. The Courier crossed his arms above him and got down to one knee in order to brace for the attack.

An attack that never came.

Something blurred in front of the Courier and, before he knew it, a man dressed in a white-gold armored coat appeared before him. The stranger had a green, curved longsword in his hands and was blocking the monkey man's staff with it. The monkey seemed to recognize him, for his eyes widened and he withdrew immediately.

"Master!" he yelped, snapping to attention, "why did yo-"

"Wukong," the swordsman interrupted, "return to the temple. We will talk _later_."

Wukong shut his mouth and ran off on all fours, with his staff curled up in his tail. The 'master' turned around and regarded the Courier, who had stood up from his kneeling position. The Courier discovered that the man before him was wearing some kind of advanced headwear, which featured segmented plates on the back and eight glowing lenses on the front. Combined with the strange armor he wore with his coat, he gave off the appearance of some kind of futuristic techno-swordsman.

_I need to stop reading some of the random crap I find in ruined libraries. This fella looks like he came outta some sci-fi._

"Are you unharmed?" the swordsman asked, "If not, I apologize. My student is often overzealous in his search for improvement, and I fear that may have lead to him attacking you."

"Ah," The Courier mumbled, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, "don't worry too much about it. I was doing something… _less than kind_ and he prob'ly just got the wrong idea. I ain't too mad about it." The swordsman tilted his head.

"Are you sure? He may be my student, but he is far from inexperienced."

"He didn't knock me around too bad. Where I'm from, that ain't even an insult." The swordsman stared blankly for a moment before nodding.

"Very well. May we meet again." The swordsman placed his hands together and made a bow before sprinting back through the alley the monkey ran through.

The Courier shook his head to himself and walked off to the inn before a crowd gathered to gawk.

_I'll just have to find work in the town and make my money back. Ain't like I lost that much, anyway._

_By the Divide, I need to stop spooking kids. There's no Legion here, so they ain't a threat…_

—-

Ahri's POV

Ahri watched from a rooftop as the crowd dispersed from the street and the stranger in the coat walked back towards the inn.

_I hope Wu's alright. I should've been there to back him up._

She hopped her way across the buildings and made her way to a certain temple in the distance.

_Wait until some of the other champions hear about this guy._

—**-**

**Other champions are coming in, the Courier's starting to stir things up.**

**Feel free to review, and I'll try to respond to any questions.**


	9. The Warehouse

**League of Legends is the property of Riot Games. Fallout: New Vegas is the property of Bethesda Softworks and Obsidian Entertainment. This story is not written for profit, and I do not claim ownership of the characters and settings portrayed within it.**

**Reviews!**

**Hermes tonsils - **_**Gotcha.**_** I'm sorry about the length, but I was writing absolutely nothing for the longest time and I started to rush it due to the shame of keeping people waiting. As for the POV stuff, I just wanted to see if people thought it was a help or hindrance. You're the first to bring it up, so I'll adjust. Thank you.**

**M.A.D Matt 6 - Yes, I have seen the update. I'm ecstatic about it (I've mained Gangplank forever and pirates are amazing in my book), and would **_**love**_** to get to Bilgewater as soon as possible. Problem is, I need to finish things up first in Ionia, which is going to take some time.**

**56006: He peeled out of there when the fighting started. It was a small mention at the end of one of the paragraphs, so I understand if you missed it.**

**Stuporman - I figured that a stranger with unrecognizable armor holding off Wukong with his bare hands would be notable enough. Then again, there **_**are**_** champions that fight unarmed and half-naked in League…**

**Downhillrabbit6: Thanks! I'm glad to see my interpretation of the Courier comes through well enough.**

**The Wanderer: While I love the absolute shit out of Fallout 4, my weakness for spaghetti westerns puts the Courier ahead of the Sole Survivor.**

**Red Guardsman: I'm working on the length. I understand that the characters lack background at the moment, but I figured there would be opportunities to further divulge later in the story, when they return. As for setting, I'm actually a bit terrified of getting too original. I have a great deal of respect for the original work when doing something like this. I'll try to incorporate more detail once I've built up my confidence.**

**The Lord of War: NOICE.**

**A personal note: I'm in high school. Senior year. For the past month, I've been buried under collapsing grades, moving houses, and college applications. All of my stories have been neglected as a result, and for that I am sorry.**

**EDIT: Evidently, the Survivalist's rifle, unlike the Service Rifle it's similar to, fires 12.7 mm rounds, not 5.56. I found this confusing at first, since the 12.7 mm is a pistol round in New Vegas, but whatever. The paragraph it's mentioned in has been corrected. Thanks to those who brought it up in reviews.**

* * *

><p>Chapter 9 - The Warehouse<p>

There were skeletons playing cards in the tavern. They sat with disturbingly fine posture, frozen in position with elegantly straight spines. They each held a hand of two cards, both halfway through being flipped over. A river of five cards laid between them, the guideline upon which considerable bets were made. It was an eternal standoff, two bodies frozen at the moment before all is revealed and the winner is declared. A large pile of multicolored chips, likely worth a fortune in any currency, went unclaimed.

The Courier stared at the dead men for a moment. The scene wasn't an entirely unfamiliar one; dead men in strange positions, illusory or not, were a common thing in the wasteland. Then again, the wasteland warrior was not in his eponymous wasteland, which made the strange sight even stranger by contrast.

"Something wrong, sir?" a deep voice behind him inquired. The Courier blinked and slapped the side of his head. The skeletons vanished, leaving behind an empty table in a nearly empty bar.

_Good Lord, I _am _insane._

"Sir?" the voice repeated. A hand was waved in front of the Courier's vision.

"Whu- ye- yeah, yeah, I'm here. I'm here." The Courier stuttered, bringing his thoughts to bear. The heavyset, thick-bearded bartender raised an eyebrow as he cleaned a glass with a rag. He looked different from the other Ionians the Courier had seen, who all had very Asian qualities in terms of appearance. The bartender's hair was a greying brown, and his skin was more tan than most of the people walking on the streets.

"Little early to be drinking," the large man said. There was a hint of humor to his tone as he took in the Courier's strange appearance.

"I ain't here for a drink." The bartender raised an eyebrow at that, so the coated man continued.

"You heard of any work for a man such as myself?" the Courier asked, deciding to get right to the point. "I figured here was as good a place to ask as any."

The bartender's face shifted from light humor to something more analytical. He looked the Courier up and down, taking in the guns at his hip and the permanent glare on his mask. He leaned in and dragged a rag across the bar as he began to speak in a hushed tone.

"Might have something," the bartender husked, "if you're willing to get your hands dirty." The Courier leaned in to show his interest.

"There's a group of men in the warehouse at the southernmost tip of the port. No one really knows why or how, but they've been bringing in a lot of goods and selling them off at _low_ prices. Normally, this wouldn't make anyone too suspicious, but they only sell to specific merchants around the city. No one else can get close. Also, the merchants they sell to aren't particularly important; in fact, most of them were struggling with sales until recently." The man's cleaning accelerated and his voice, while calm, held a hint of anger. "Suspicious, isn't it? All the signs point to contraband." The bartender locked eyes with the Courier as he halted his cleaning efforts. "Now, Ionia is a good place. Clean business and honest folk. Thing is, with the recent ties between countries the League has brought-"

"League?" the Courier questioned. The bartender blinked.

"Yes, the League of Legends."

"Never heard of it."

The bartender gave the Courier a rather bewildered look, as if the man had mutated a third arm.

"Nev- _never heard of it?_" the bartender sputtered, forgetting about his efforts to remain subtle, "what- how- _where_ could you possibly be from to have _never_ heard of the League of Legends? That's- that's _impossible_!"

"Look," the Courier whispered, trying to get the bartender to settle down, "I'm from… _real_ far away. I ain't been here long, and I'm still tryin' to… _acclimate_." The bartender didn't seem entirely convinced, but leaned in to continue speaking anyway.

"Well," the bartender said, "I don't know how you managed to stay ignorant of the League, but I can explain. The League of Legends is an… _organization_ that manages conflicts between city-states. They hold… er… I guess you could call them matches between Champions. Instead of, say, declaring a war when there's a problem, each city-state picks a few of their best fighters to settle it on the Fields of Justice. People watch matches across Valoran on crystal viewers." The bartender gestured towards a blue rock that sat high up on the wall, near the ceiling. It was shaved down from its original shape so that it had a wide, flat surface that looked suitable for one to view a projection on.

"So," the Courier surmised, "you use this 'League' so there ain't any wars." The bartender nodded.

"Can't have a war on our precious land. Magic tends to destroy the landscape and cause calamities when there's too much in one place. In the League, it's all controlled and maintained so things don't get out of hand." The bartender lowered his head, and a shadow covered his eyes. "However, that doesn't mean people aren't nervous. With city-states like Noxus, it's always a possibility for an invasion to spark another war before the League can stop it."

The Courier leaned heavily on the bar, letting the information stir around in his head.

_Magic?_

While the Courier wasn't the most superstitious of men, that didn't mean he was a cynic. The Wasteland was home to many farfetched legends that turn out to be very true. Deathclaws were fairytale monsters before they came to the Mojave, and the Ghost of She's hand still sat in the Courier's lockbox. While magic was still discounted as fake, the things attributed to magic were often real. The Wasteland was a wild place, after all, and the mundane often walked hand-in-hand with the mystical.

"I see." The Courier said after a moment, silently deciding to investigate at another time. "Well, I appreciate the free information, friend."

"Anytime. Now, about that job I was offering…?"

The Courier was silent for a moment before he realized what the bartender was talking about.

"Oh. Yeah, uh, right. You were tellin' me about contraband?"

"Ah. Yes. Well, it's clear that the 'workers' in the warehouse are running an illegal smuggling operation. However, Ionia has very strict port regulations, which is why such a thing is rare here. Now, that presents a complication. Whoever set up that warehouse has a great deal of support from _someone_ and has an interest in keeping things running smoothly. Now, I'm part of a group of merchants here in Tatsumi that like to keep things running well. We can pay you 400 gold, up front, to stop their operations. We can pay you 200 extra if you find out who is supporting them."

"When you say _stop _their operations…"

"I mean do anything that will shut down their warehouse without completely destroying the city."

The Courier leaned back. Normally he would haggle for more, but he really needed this money. It was enough to keep him going for quite some time before he needed to find more work.

"I'll agree," the Courier said, "on one condition. You pay me half up front." The bartender nodded.

"I can respect that. Here." He set a sizable leather bag of coins on the counter with a _clink_.

"Alright," the Courier said, slipping the bag into his coat. He pulled up his Pip-Boy and accessed his map. "Can you point me to the warehouse?"

—-

The Courier took stock of his gear as he approached the isolated warehouse on foot. He was looking at a large building, likely involving open areas and a few tight corridors leading to the offices. While the crates of contraband would provide some cover, the warehouse would be filled with workers and guards that moved amongst them. If he was caught, he would probably be swarmed. There weren't many alternate routes to consider; he couldn't really scale walls and here weren't any fire escapes hanging off the sides. If he was caught, there was going to be enemies between him and the nearest exit. He ran through a mental checklist of his gear.

First, for unarmored targets, he brought A Light Shining in Darkness and the Big Boomer, a Sawed-off shotgun that was spray-painted black with the words "BIG BOOMER" stenciled on the side in white. ALSD was more or less a staple of his, capable of taking down most threats, while the Big Boomer was efficient for taking out anything that got a little too close.

Second, for armored targets, he brought the Survivalist's Rifle, an old relic of a gun that he loaded with 12.7 mm rounds. It was over two centuries old and etched with memories, but the mechanisms worked together without a hitch. The words "HALT!" and "ARRET!" were carved on the sides as well as tally marks, signs of a long career in a world now long gone. The Courier was actually surprised the gun was in as good condition as it was, given that the hand rest and the stock were wood and the gun was literally sitting on a mountain long enough for tribes to start claiming it was an ancient artifact. He was grateful nonetheless; 12.7 mm was enough to punch through anything short of a tank.

Third, for close quarters combat, he brought the sword he found back at the camp by Haisen. He had kept it sharp and clean, maintaining its rather considerable lethality.

Fourth, he had an assortment of explosives for all sorts of special occasions. Most were IEDs made with scrap, but he had a few flash bangs and fire bombs. The IEDs were sufficient for most problems, all things considered, since rusty shrapnel sent at high velocities would ruin anyone's day. After all, despite his differences with them, the Courier had to admit that the Powder Gangers knew how explosives could solve an astonishingly wide variety of problems.

Finally, he brought a suppressed .45 pistol for silent takedowns. It used a round he had in abundance and had enough punch to take anyone down in one shot, making it valuable for stealth.

He watched the warehouse as the sun's light disappeared beyond the horizon.

—-

Wukong hopped lightly from rooftop to rooftop, seeking the exertion of exercise in order to alleviate his pent-up frustration. Between being chewed out by his master and relentlessly questioned by Ahri, his mood had become a bit of a roiling cesspit. It didn't help that the mysterious stranger he fought the previous day was nowhere to be found, robbing him of a chance at a rematch.

To be bested was one thing, but to be held off by a non-Champion that was _unarmed by choice_ of all things was simply embarrassing. If this kept up, his position within the League would be brought to question. And if he was kicked out of the League, his chance at surpassing himself would wither away. He would be considered a failure by his former comrades and go back to being some dumb monkey who was pretending to be a man.

He shook the thoughts away as he hopped from roof to roof before taking to scanning the streets for something to distract him.

—-

The Courier slipped between piles of boxed goods. The yard preceding the warehouse was the main site for unloading and moving the contraband, making it a maelstrom of activity. While the boxes were good for cover, the dock workers and the armed guards were numerous. Timing the holes between their patrol routes was tricky.

Although the isolated location and the illegal nature of his targets meant that the Courier could probably get away with killing the guards and waltzing in, he figured taking the quiet approach before letting loose would be more effective. That way, he could confirm where his objectives were before fighting broke out, allowing him to retreat quickly instead of searching up and down the warehouse for who knows how long.

The Courier scanned the outside of the warehouse while nestled between a pair of boxes. If he wanted to stop the smuggling, he would have to either have to sabotage the operation or take out the people running the whole thing. Sabotage was easier, but wouldn't help lead him to any answers regarding the smugglers' operations. That meant he needed to locate a leader of some sort, and the most likely place to find one of those would be above the warehouse. If not, at least he would be able to see where everything was in order to plan out his next move.

His head turned with a jerk as he observed a shadowed figure leaping from the neighboring rooftop to the side of the warehouse. The figure was lithe and moved fluidly, quickly slipping in through a window.

The Courier typed out a quick note to himself on his Pip-Boy. He wasn't overtly worried about the fact that someone else was breaking into his target, but there was always a chance that they would do something that would indirectly make things more complicated for him.

He slid past another pile of stored goods, the last obstacle between him and the open doors of the warehouse.

—-

Akali stepped silently as she traversed the walkway at the top of the warehouse, scanning the lower floor for a particular package. Said package contained a dagger shipped from deep in the Shadow Lands, making it an artifact of power that couldn't fall into enemy hands. The balance of power in Ionia was already off-set, especially with Zed's gathering strength, and recovering the dagger would move it ever so slightly back towards the way it should be.

The walkway was free of guards, a likely consequence of keeping the ground floor as well-defended as possible. Several armed men wearing chainmail under their coats patrolled around the diligent workers that were moving boxes back and forth. Not one of them was looking up.

As she stalked along the upper section, Akali noticed a box with a covering delicately laid over it being brought in by a large man that was in full plate armor. The armored man was met in the middle of the warehouse by a man wearing a finely tailored red tunic and a well-pressed pair of black breeches. The finely clothed man spoke with the man in armor for a moment before running a hand over the covered box. The men then proceeded to walk to the other end of the room, where an office appeared to be tucked into the corner beyond all of the moving activity.

As Akali crept toward the office under the assumption that the dagger lay in the box, she noticed a shadowed figure slip from the walkway across from her onto the roof of the office. Akali tensed before unsheathing her kamas.

The Kinkou Triumvirate were allowed a great deal of freedom in regards to dealing with obstacles during a mission. Akali, as the one responsible for Pruning the Tree, treated all obstacles as direct disruptors to the balance. This included the shadowy figure, for anyone sneaking about in a place like this could get in the way.

Akali climbed onto the railing of the walkway and, after tensing up like a spring, shot herself towards the figure. Right before slamming into the figure, she shifted her position so that her knees crashed into his torso first. With a heavy _wumph, _she made contact with the (clearly male) figure and knocked him down. With her knees clinging on to both sides of the man's waist, she swung her right arm so that her kama would slice through the man's neck.

Her weapon stopped abruptly as the man, in the blink of an eye, grabbed the shaft. Akali started to swing her other one, but stopped just short of his neck when she felt something cold and hard press up against her jaw. The object went _click,_ making it obvious that it was a firearm of some kind.

"Howdy," the man said, "didn't expect to see you in this neck o' the woods."

With her newfound proximity to the man, Akali realized that the mask he wore was the one of the man she and her fellows encountered just outside of Haisen. At this realization, multiple questions flew around in her head. The primary one that she settled on was _who_ he could be working for; if it was Zed, her mission would become very complicated.

"You know," the man continued, "I'm just here for a little job. Concerned citizens, y'see. I'd rather not blow your brains out right now, so if you need something, I don't got any problems staying out of your way."

Akali blinked at this statement. Most would fight back at such a blatant attack, but the man seemed to be taking it in stride. However, his offer was very difficult to refuse. He had her at gunpoint after all, and despite the fact that she could probably find a way to reverse their positions, the man was too much of an unknown to discount in terms of ability. This was accompanied by the fact that, since he was willing to let her complete her mission, he could no longer be considered an obstacle.

She sighed through her nose and got off of him, allowing him to get up into a crouching position. As he got up, she took another look at him. While the scene at the strange man's camp site left her with very little in the ways of a visual, she could see the man clearly and in detail now. He was tall, appeared to be somewhat thin (although she couldn't quite tell under his massive trench coat), and his armor appeared to be a reinforced coat over a set of body armor. His head was encased within an intricate helmet that had a pair of glowing red lenses peering back at her. The whole outfit gave her no indication of what his face or body looked like, making him seem more like a monster than a man. The foreign appearance of the outfit was also unsettling. Ionian designs were typically curved and elegant, with more important suits of armor or outfits looking more like a painting made by an artist than the work of a smith or tailor. The strange man's armor, however, was angular and efficient. No bright coloring, emblems, flairs, or decorations, just dust and dried blood settled over faded green plating. His left arm was encased in some kind of heavy bracer, that glowed with some kind of ethereal light. Akali frowned, wondering if the bracer was enchanted.

The weapon in his hands was comparatively simple, but Akali could tell it was unique compared to the firearms she had seen in use at the League. It wasn't a massive hand cannon like those in use within Bilgewater and it didn't have the intricate gears and levers reflected in those from Piltover. Instead, it used an economic design that was sharp, simple, and angular, not unlike the style his armor used.

The man turned his body towards her and she tensed. "So," he said, no hostility audible in his voice, "you got business here?" In response, Akali stiffened slightly. Her mission was not something to freely speak of, and the last thing she wanted was for someone to walk off with sensitive information that could make its way to Zed or his allies. If anything, she would prefer that the man not be involved at all, given that he was an unnecessary complication. "Let me guess," the man said, noting her silence and her furrowed brows, "top secret?"

Akali nodded in response, slightly relived that she didn't have to explain. The man rubbed the back of his helmet before speaking again. "Well," he informed, "I'm supposed to stop these jackasses and see if they got any contacts helping 'em out. If, uh, you're willin' to help me out, I could help you."

Akali shook her head. Kinkou were trained to work alone, and any unknowns were to be removed if they turned into risks. Not only was this man a possible liability, but the only reason he was _alive_ was because he had her in a potentially fatal situation. That, and he had confirmed for her that he wasn't after the dagger.

"Suit yourself," the man said, silently striding to the edge of the office while checking his weapon. Akali's throat tightened as she watched him, partly because she needed to ensure that he wouldn't blow her mission and partly because there was a question that lingered in her mind.

"Wait," she called, using her voice for the first time in the conversation. The man stopped and turned to her, ruby lenses boring into her chocolate orbs. "Why didn't you shoot me?"

The man paused before responding. "Well," he began, "you're one of 'em kink cows, right?"

"I am a member of the Kinkou, yes."

"I'd rather not piss your friends off. I ain't keen on makin' enemies around here."

Akali's brow furrowed once more. Even if it was a perfectly reasonable explanation, that didn't address the fact that she could have _killed_ the man. All things considered, the panic most felt in the face of death would have made them attack their assailant without taking the time to consider the possible repercussions.

"Oh," the man said, interrupting her thoughts, "you might want to step back a bit."

Confused, the Kinkou warrior took a step back as the man pulled a black, boxy object from within his coat. Before she could register the slight twitch of his finger, an explosion ripped out a chunk from the ceiling of the office, and the man in the coat hopped in as panicked shouting filled the air of the warehouse.

Akali let out an angry swear as she slipped in after him, making a mental note to vent her anger on him after the completion of her mission.

—-

The Courier triggered V.A.T.S as he landed within the (now ruined) office. Time slowed to a crawl as his Pip-Boy ran a scan of the room. Several calculations ran through the miniature computer before it threw up a real-time analysis of the most effective shooting positions for hitting specific parts of each target's body. After mentally queuing up three shots, he killed the two armed men in the room with a shot between the eyes and crippled the leader of the warehouse gang with a shot to the leg.

As footsteps approached the little office and the woman in green slipped in through his improvised entrance, the Courier yanked open the office desk (which was covered in sizable chunks of wood from the ceiling) and shoveled the letters within into his coat. If his eavesdropping was worth anything, then the letters should be from the mysterious benefactor of the operation being run in the warehouse.

The Courier turned around to find the warehouse boss trying desperately to crawl his way to the office door and the green lady tucking an ornate box under her arm.

_Guess I helped her out after all._

The wasteland wanderer pistol-whipped the back of the boss' skull, knocking the man out. He could feel the woman behind him glaring at the back of his head as he threw the limp body over his shoulder, and turned around to address her.

"Look, sorry I blew your cover an' all, but I ain't a very subtle man."

The ninja glared at him, maintaining the silence she exuded during their previous conversation, at least until she glanced at the door. The footsteps had gone very quiet, something that reminded the Courier of the fight he had on the previous island.

"They are waiting for us," she said in a voice that was both smooth and quiet. "We can talk at another time."

He turned away and swapped his suppressed pistol for his .45. He had seen an armored man earlier, but the majority of his opponents were wearing leather or silk, strangely enough. He wanted something fast instead of strong at the moment. The ninja walked up beside him and held her scythe-like weapon in her free hand, showing that she was ready.

The Courier lifted his leg and smashed open the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Yep, that's the chapter. I'll try to get cracking on the next one as soon as possible.<strong>

**Be sure to review if you have any advice!**


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